


Headnoise

by johndave



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abstract, Gay, Homophobia, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Nonbinary Character, Other, Surreal, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:18:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johndave/pseuds/johndave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finch and Jane stumble through their abstractions of the world around them together and not together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headnoise

It was dark there. If an outsider walked in and got lost in time there they’d wake up thinking it was the middle of the night, that’s just how it felt. It was ratty and everyone was pretty sure it used to be a dance studio but now it was another kind of studio, for one way conversations and for silence.  
She muttered into the microphone, glaring to the side where Jane sat. Jane snickered, glancing at her feet as the grin disappeared from her lips fast. "Go on," Jane said. She tried to regain seriousness, silence.  
Finch let out a shaky breath. She tried to keep her eyes off Jane, but couldn't really, she couldn't not look at her for comfort. Comfort was nowhere else.  
She figured it wasn't _that_ unhealthy and then brushed that thought out of her head entirely. Jane pushed a button, studying it hard afterward. Something was there (not really, something was somewhere else and she couldn't really afford to face it. She brought her attention to everything that didn’t need it: She was in denial. This, sometimes, she thought, was beneficial).  
Finch turned on as the microphone did. "Hello everyone! How are we today?" Then she cringed, this wasn't uncommon, as she realized no one could talk back to her.  
From outside the booth she saw Jane's smile and her lips form a silent response, "Good." Finch had to force down a laugh, but her voice still definitely smiled.  
"Last night was the yearly reckoning and communal storytelling of the elders' favorite Norse myths. We won't go over them, because that would result in damnation, but I _will_ say that it was marvelous! Maia was like "That was so chill," so like, at least it pleased her. Anyways, I wanted to ask you guys something and you can vote using the ballot which will be sent to your mailbox in the next five to seven business days. Here's the question so you can think about it beforehand: for your morning calling every day, do you enjoy the bell tones or would you prefer trumpet, trombone, or horn tones? The bells are there for a reason, but I'm just wondering. Like obviously nothing's going to change, but I'm just wondering you know? That's all. I'm just wondering.” She paused, looking at the blue sticky note in front of her. “Tomorrow is a fantastic day of celebration for all the plant kids out there, man, you guys are cool. You all are supposed to present your flowers or fruits to the nearest fawn or stag, no does, just a fawn or a stag, remember! Don't forget."  
After a while, Finch's mouth got dry and Jane was almost falling asleep. This meant that it was time to go. They went, upstairs, turned on their radio, and listened to Finch's voice play into their little clay dirt living room.  
Jane made dinner, humming along with Finch's broadcast like it was a song she knew all the lyrics to. Finch kindled a fire in their fireplace, and the two came together once dinner and the fire were ready, sat in their respective chairs, and ate. What they did while they ate is a mystery, to be honest, but they did look at each other. This wasn't unusual. They would spend a lot of dinners staring and smiling and smacking their lips and complimenting the dish but they would mostly look and look and study and study and study. The firelight cast a long shadow across Jane's cheek from her nose, Finch thought that was nice. The light danced across Jane's black, sooty hair and dark eyes and even though everything about Jane was so dark all the time, the fire complimented it and highlighted it all like nothing else could.  
Actually, Finch's voice could. Finch's voice was orange red yellow and flickered across Jane just like firelight, but it wasn't as warm. Finch often asked Jane if that was okay, if she was too cold to be in such close quarters with Jane all the time, Jane had to have been pretty cold, but Jane said it was fine. Jane said it was worth it.  
They went to bed when the big big star's flames went out and when the fire's light went out; Finch never made any move to restore the fire. When it went, so did the two of them. 

They woke up and repeated the same symptoms and reflexes of the day before, glances and smiles and tiny laughs made it bearable and even then it was virtually unbearable. Finch's mother called, asked her how she was doing and if her horns had come in and if she was still living with that woman. Finch nodded even though it’s impossible to tell if someone's nodding over the phone and paced around the kitchen for the whole two hours that she was on the phone with her mother.  
Jane had to turn down her rock music for that, Finch appreciated her compliance as it's always so hard to turn down the shields that protect someone from the noise that they usually hear, Jane faced the sounds for the whole two hours that Finch was on the phone with her mother, it was hard and after it she was exhausted but she still brought home several rabbits and even a goose for dinner the next couple nights.  
There was a blinking light above the sink that, when she was sleeping, Finch dreamed of destroying. The dream went like this:  
Jane was struggling against several restraints that bound her hands and feet against the oven. A really big ladybug (stupid, right?! Man, Finch's imagination!) held one of those whips for horses and a bionic arm for a human who doesn't have an arm to wear so they can have a hand, but the ladybug was wearing it, Finch guessed, so he had opposable thumbs, Finch guessed, so he was able to turn on the stove and the oven and bake Jane to a crisp.  
This was horrifying, and Finch couldn't talk. That was fine, but Finch's voice was reduced from orange and red and yellow letters all over the place to a blinking red light that appeared over the sink. Jane tried her best to tell what Finch was trying to say with her voice contained in that light, but it was impossible. All the color was gone and all the coldness and all the beauty. Jane thrived on beauty and it was all gone.  
Every time, Jane got cooked on the stove or in the oven.  
But Finch woke up eventually, and would look on the way other side of the room and see Jane's nose reflect the moon's light and turn into a crescent itself, she sometimes couldn't tell the two apart. She commended Jane for being so beautiful, even if her raven hair was tangled usually, ears stuck out a lot, and she looked, usually, like she had a single eyebrow, also her teeth were hopelessly crooked. She was beautiful when the moon sharpened all her features, ran its silvery fingers through her hair and spread out on her nose, shining, shining.  
Finch didn’t want to be stupid or anything, but she thought Jane might be just plain beautiful. This was stupid, though, so like, that was stupid. Finch hated herself. That was fine. It was fine.


End file.
